


The Slow Road

by SullustanGin



Series: The Parthenos Triptych [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe (Timmverse), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Christmas Party, Classic Cars, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hellmonth, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Burn, alfred ships it, wally is the best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SullustanGin/pseuds/SullustanGin
Summary: Diana chose her destination long ago, but even when the journey is allowed to begin, it remains long and sometimes tortuous.  At the same time, she realizes she is not the only person attempting to remain on the path to the real Bruce Wayne.
Relationships: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Bruce Wayne
Series: The Parthenos Triptych [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1876924
Comments: 41
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

On the first night, Bruce and Diana sat on his living room floor and ate a smorgasbord of Indian food – food they hadn’t had a chance to even order during the Thanagarian Invasion. Bruce tipped 30%, with enough leftovers to feed Alfred, Tim, and even Dick if he showed up that weekend. Bruce loaned her a Gotham Knights t-shirt to wear over her armor while she ate.

Diana took it back to the Watchtower when he said she looked cute in it. He kissed her goodnight.

**

The second night took awhile to finally come together. 

Batman and Wonder Woman continued to work together – they never ceased to be teammates, and their patterns of behavior and interaction in front of others did not change. Diana knew it was necessary for her status of Parthenos and for Bruce’s peace of mind. He had once said that the League wasn’t supposed to be a dating service, yet Dinah and Oliver and Shayera and John and Kara and Brainiac and Huntress and Question -- the list went on and on and on. If she had shown any external signs of some deeper romantic attachment, Batman would have frozen her out completely; how it would have rankled him to be sorted into the same category as those aforementioned. 

The case Bruce had been working on in the Cave was simply the first signs of an arms smuggling ring that was integrating off-world tech. The weeks flew by as Hawkgirl, Batman, and John with the help of the Lantern Corps immersed themselves in intergalactic arms dealing. 

Diana wondered if she’d dreamt the evening in the Cave and then in his living room. 

When Diana next saw him emerging from deep cover, John was half-dragging him down a gangplank in the Watchtower’s transport bay. She didn’t bother to greet him. She just went straight to medbay and alerted the physicians that one late-thirties human male was coming in with extensive injuries. 

“You know, before they had to cut your clothes off, you looked like that smuggler from the _Star_ _Trek_ film,” she said to him when visitors were permitted a few days later.

“ _Star Wars_ , Diana. It has a princess in it, too.”

“I know, you scruffy nerfherder.” He’d cracked a smile at that.

The second night consisted of her helping him choke down enough hospital food to get released, then she walked him back to his rarely used quarters on the Watchtower. She patiently held a mirror for him so he could sit on the closed toilet to shave – he was indeed scruffy beyond his own tolerance, but he also couldn’t tolerate standing for extended periods either. They caught up on the last few weeks, Diana watching Bruce reappear. The dark circles under his eyes were a combination of exhaustion and bruises. 

Silently, he pushed the mirror away and raised his face toward her for a spot inspection. Diana checked the commonly missed areas (when one only sees the chins and jaws of teammates, spots missed by shaving were easily picked out). Then she approved with a nod and bowed her head to kiss him, and he readily kissed her back.

Not a dream after all.

The kiss was sweet, chaste, and short; Diana was more concerned about getting him to sleep and Bruce was most concerned about getting back to Gotham – which he would only be allowed to do after he slept. She was the last thing he saw as she turned off the lights.

On her way back to her quarters, Diana passed John in the hall. “Heard he got out in record time with some help.”

She gave him a look. “You know how miserable he gets in there. It’s better for staff morale if he’s out and brooding somewhere else.”

John chuckled at that. “He ok?”

“If it tells you anything, I think he’s already asleep.”

“And he let you help.” John shook his head. “I think he thinks he’s indestructible like you or Supes.”

Diana ran a hand back through her hair. “No, he knows he isn’t. He does it anyway so others – even if they have powers – don’t have to.” She paused. “In a way, he’s the best and worst sort of man.”

John couldn’t disagree with her there. 

** 

The third night was a day. The weather had turned cooler, and Vermont was experiencing its first color bursts. Bruce had a private park up there for sugar maple – because of course he did, he was Bruce Wayne. He went up there in spring to drive his cars. During the summer season, he sometimes took Tim camping up there, just has he had Dick when his first ward was younger. Visits were brief and sporadic, but they were entirely private and away from paparazzi; his lot was registered under a different name and backed up against a mountain. 

Bruce had them transported down close to his garage there, both of them layered up for the crisp chill of fall that would slowly warm through the day. Diana didn’t remember a lot of conversation. She just remembered the colors zipping by as Bruce throttled his antique cars to their performance limits. It had been eternal summer on Themyscira. Autumn was beautiful, potentially her new favorite season. Bruce had let himself check out of Gotham, out of the League, and she was pretty sure he forgot she was there half the time too. Diana didn’t mind. 

Alfred’s packed lunch, complete with a thermos of hot apple cider, added to Diana’s newfound infatuation. They sat beneath a cluster of trees, leaves fluttering down whenever the wind blew. As they nursed the last of the cider, Bruce shifted close to her on the blanket and encouraged her to lie down, facing him. He hadn’t forgotten about her _entirely._

Under the canopy of oranges and reds, his blue eyes glowed electric in contrast as he led her through their first extended kissing session. Sharp notes of cinnamon punctuated each lock and unlock of their lips. He introduced her to kisses on the neck, which were a complete revelation. 

She shrugged off her jacket to be closer to him through their clothes. He only hesitated for a moment before doing the same. He was so _warm_ and _strong_ and – no wonder men weren’t allowed on the island. Nothing would get done. 

Diana’s brain buzzed with new stimulation from his lips and tongue, but the gradual migration of his firm hands didn’t miss detection. She knew he felt her smile as a hand on her bottom pulled her closer to him. That only made him bolder, his own lips pulling upward. Diana suddenly felt a gentle palm on her breast over her clothes, a questing thumb playing with the edge of her bra. 

She froze at the sensation. A grab at someone’s ass could appear in several contexts as nonsexual, including gaining purchase to haul them out of trouble. That wasn’t what Bruce was doing to her – with his hands, with his lips, and then when he came up for air, he asked aloud, “You ok?”

Diana only remembered that a response was required when he stopped circling that wonderful thumb. Diana opened her eyes wide, drinking in Bruce’s expression. He’d noticed her go still, even as he was sinking into his own lusty, happy haze; concern had started to weave through his features. The electric blue eyes watched her. She nodded, rapidly. “It’s new. I like it.” 

Bruce’s face relaxed, and he managed to murmur “good” before resuming his study of her lips and the teasing of one breast, then the other. The rustle of leaves punctuated her most un-Amazonian noises and more than one ‘oh!’ into his busy mouth. As one of Bruce’s hands reached to angle her head so he could nip at her neck, Diana stole a small moment to watch him. 

As in everything, he was intensely focused, eyes closed, listening to her breathing. His fingertips danced around her pulse, using it to gauge her excitement as his lips and teeth went to work, gently. He wouldn’t mark her. 

Diana took a breath as pleasure ran up and down her skin, from her neck down to where her clothes covered her. She kept her eyes open as she strategically rolled him beneath her to break his concentration. She heard his voice for the first time express wordless pleasure as she explored his neck and jawline; Diana felt powerful, making him make those sounds. And then, as she drew back for a moment to look down at him, he stared up at her –

She’d been called a goddess before, but the look he gave her was far more sincere than any verbal compliment. 

It only lasted a moment before he pulled her down to him, mouth ardent. One hand cradled the back of her head as the other pulled her waist tight to him. 

As they eventually drove back toward the garage, Bruce said to her over the roar of the ’38 Phantom’s engine, “I have a cabin up here. Very quiet in winter. If you were looking for a place to hide away for a few days …” 

Diana didn’t miss the suggestion, nor the hopeful look in his eyes. “Maybe. I think I’d like that.” Bruce seemed satisfied by the noncommittal commitment.

**

The fourth night was a dinner at his place, the prelude and postlude on his sitting room couch. They made out like teenagers. Diana caught a brief glimpse of Alfred, who made it a point to be scarce that evening, as if not wanting to scare her off. Or, more accurately, not wanting to scare Bruce off. Dinner was made before she arrived, set out, and dessert was in the fridge, all set and prearranged to the point that anyone with two braincells couldn’t botch it. 

Diana was horrified when she gave Bruce her first lovebite, right on the collarbone. Bruce had to reassure her it was technically perfect and did not require any medical attention. He promised to give her a pair whenever he was allowed to place them somewhere her uniform covered. Diana had blushed hot red at that offer. 

**

The fifth night was a reversal of the second night, but with far more anxiety. Diana had been knocked out by a blast from a munitions stockpile. Bruce patiently waited for his shift to sit by her bedside, after Wally, before Clark. (He plowed through no fewer than 300 Waynetech proposals for the Tower, drank nearly a liter of coffee, and snapped at anyone who crossed his path. Nobody suspected a thing.)

It was toward the end of his watch that she started to stir. “Diana,” he called to her quietly. No response. He extended a glove to wrap around her hand and gave it a squeeze. She was more responsive to that, squeezing back, struggling to resurface to consciousness

When her eyes finally opened to see him, Bruce could only reward her with a gravelly, “You scared us, Princess.”

She smiled. She blinked a few times. “Bruce…” came out of her mouth, quietly. Then she swallowed and tilted her head toward him. “What’d you say?” 

He repeated himself and watched as her forehead creased. Despite barely being awake, Diana forced herself to sit up. “I can’t hear you,” she said, her volume unmodulated. Her hands went up to her ears, earrings long-removed. “I can’t hear myself.”

Bruce silently hit the call button and perched pensively on his chair as the staff physician arrived. Diana repeated her complaint again, and soon her ears were being looked at. 

Bruce withdrew to the edges of medbay as Diana was assessed. Clark appeared. “She’s awake?”

“And deaf as a stone,” Bruce replied. “Probably from the concussive force – ruptured her ear drums or broke the bones.” 

Clark frowned. “Golly. Poor Diana. Doctors know for how long yet?”

Bruce gave a shake of his head. “She’s off the duty roster for at least two weeks. I don’t think she should be up here.”

Clark agreed, “Yeah, being off the roster would mean nothing to her. She’ll still go out to help, in a communications blackout. Got room in that mansion of yours?”

Bruce paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Wayne Manor is soundproofed in many rooms. It’s be like a haunted house for her, things appearing without warning. Your parents still have that creaky, old farm house?”

“Hey now, Pa does his best—” Clark stopped. “Yeah. You’re right. Vibrations travel through the floor boards, sun comes through the windows even before ol’ Barney crows – and it’s Smallville, can’t get any quieter. Let me call Lois and then Ma, explain the situation.” Bruce saw the nervous tick, only briefly. 

Bruce still held that this was none of his or Diana’s business. The rest of the Leaguers lived in the city – too loud and noisy for otological recovery. The Kents’ farm was the best place for her. Still, the last thing Diana needed was Lois lurking around the back forty. “You may want to consider taking Lois away for the weekend. Whatever is in the opposite direction of Smallville. And I don’t think she needs to know about Diana staying with your parents.” 

Clark considered the idea. “But that wouldn’t be honest.”

“You’re not lying.”

“But I’m not telling the truth.”

“The only good thing about Lois blowing up this time is that Diana can’t hear her. You would get that joy all to yourself.” 

Clark stopped arguing, lips pressed into a tight line. “She told you about the tabloid incident?” 

Bruce arranged the truth to suit his needs and feigned ignorance in all other areas. “Diana was upset that Lois was upset, which makes you upset. I told her to stay out of Metropolis and we rearranged the roster, slightly. Don’t forget I’ve been on the receiving end of Lois’ anger, Clark – I don’t wish that on anyone.” 

That rearrangement also netted Bruce and Diana more concurrent on-duty time, albeit in different places. That meant off-duty time could be more efficiently coordinated.

That made Clark relax slightly. “I’ll see what I can do without feeling too guilty.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and said nothing. That Big Blue Boy Scout made his own problems. 

The curtains around Diana’s bed were pulled back, and she sat disgruntled in her bed, reading a note the doctors had slipped her. As Bruce and Clark approached she handed Clark the note and plaintively signed in ASL “get me out of here” to Bruce. 

“One of the many diplomatic languages of Themyscira?” he signed back.

“Got a letter. Little girl asked me to learn. She is deaf and she wants to talk to Wonder Woman.” Diana held up both hands in the shape of a W and moved them as if they took two steps and then took off for flight. “She made her own sign for my name. I had to.” 

Bruce had to fight the smile that threatened to erupt on his face and decided to read over Clark’s shoulder. Yup, concussive force injuries. “You’re going to Smallville tomorrow to recover in quiet.”

Diana stared up at him like a distraught owl as she watched him spell out Smallville. “Bad idea.”

“Best place. Only for a few days, maybe a week.” 

Clark watched the two of them. “I’ve got to learn this. Um, if hasn’t already told you, you’re going to my parents to recover. Smallville is the best place objectively. Just get better fast, and the sooner you can come back up here.” 

Bruce wanted to vent Clark out an airlock. The last thing he needed was Diana _pretending_ to hear to help Clark avoid domestic problems. Which she _absolutely_ would do.

It didn’t take long for Batman to get Wonder Woman out of medbay – there was nothing more to do for her other than let her rest quietly, which she could do just as well in her quarters. One of the nurses helped her shower so that her ears weren’t submerged, and then they let her go. As her quarters’ door closed behind the two of them, Diana said to Bruce– not in ASL – “stay.”

He couldn’t refuse her. He faced the wall to strip down to the basic layers of his uniform – the space-age fabric he wore underneath his armor to prevent chafing and to soak blood for minor wounds. He stared at that wall until she touched his arm to turn around. 

Diana was in his Gotham Knights shirt, ready for bed. Now he let that smile he’d contained in medbay appear. He signed and said to her, “You will get better. And you still look cute in that shirt.” Diana tried to smile back but couldn’t.

Bruce gave her a long series of kisses goodnight before she finally settled into bed with her face against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart. In the darkness, Bruce practiced certain words out loud, when he knew she couldn’t hear them. 

**

On the morning of the fourth day on R&R, Barney the rooster was the most wonderful sound Diana had ever heard. She heard herself breath a sigh of relief. The Kents had been wonderful during the entire ordeal. No wonder Clark had turned out so sweet. At the same time, the day-to-day life was also profoundly boring; Clark’s relationship with feisty Lois made so much more sense, even if he did have the outlet of being a superhero. For all the ups and downs, Lois was the human embodiment of an adrenaline rush for Clark. After all those years in Smallville, getting caught up in her whirlwind was the most exciting part of his life. 

After informing the overjoyed Kents of her recovery, Diana took the pencil and paper tablet they had used to write messages among them and started to write a list of her own. She had to be ready. The list went through several revisions before, in the late afternoon, she hailed the Watchtower. “Batman here.”

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.” She meant it with all her heart.

His breath only caught for a second. “Glad you’re feeling better. You’re still off the duty roster for another week, no matter what you say.”

“Uh huh. Just like you were after the arms bust. How about Monitor duty this week, full reactivation next week, as a compromise?” 

There was a silence on the other end for several moments. “You sure you’re ready to come back?”

Diana smirked. She didn’t normally compromise. He knew that. But there were things she had to address. This was what she needed to do – no compromise necessary. “I do have some self-discipline, Batman. I have some paperwork that needs to be taken care of, arrangements to be made – desk work. Might as well get to it.” 

Another patch of silence followed. Then Batman replied, “We’ll transport you in fifteen, if you head to the teleportation spot in the Kent corn field.” 

Diana’s eyes darted to the clock. “I’ll stay for supper. 1915 Smallville time work for you?”

“I’ll be off Monitor duty. J’onn should be on though; I’ll let him know. Batman out.”

Diana finally saw Bruce later that evening – in theory, their sixth night -- as she worked at one of the computer terminals in the kitchen off the conference room. The founders used it exclusively as a private stash: J’onn’s Oreos, Wally’s cereal, Shayera’s Thanagarian yogurt, and so on. If Diana wanted to do work and wouldn’t mind socialization, this was the place. Her eyes briefly left the screen to meet the whites of his cowl. 

“I’ve seen your file changes,” he rumbled. “Did you plan on discussing this with the rest of the Founders?”

Bruce wasn’t happy.

Diana evenly inhaled and exhaled. “It isn’t up to them. Or me, honestly. It will be in the hands of the gods. I can only my best observations. Best guesses.” 

Bruce looked as if he was going to chastise her, but then Wally strolled in. The Scarlet Speedster had been on double shifts between his job on earth as a forensic scientist and on the Watchtower, so his schedule was completely flipped. Ten o’clock at night on the Watchtower was more like ten in the morning for him; he shuffled through the kitchen in his happy face boxers and a t-shirt that read ‘We’re all cucumbers with social anxiety.’

“Morning, campers,” he said cheerily. “Welcome back, Di.” 

“Hi, Wally,” she offered, eyes still on Bruce. “Before you say anything, Bruce, it’s a contingency plan. I don’t intend on giving it up unless I’m incapacitated – blind, deaf, paralyzed. Or if the armor rejects me.”

“We can avoid the risk of the armor rejecting you at all, you know,” he hissed.

Diana glared up at him. “Don’t you dare.” This princess was _not_ going to be dumped in the Watchtower kitchen in front of _Wally_. “I can handle my own affairs. If there is to be a next Wonder Woman, I can at least assist the League in finding her. Besides, perhaps one day, far away in the future, I won’t _want_ to wear Athena’s armor anymore. I’ll just wish to be the ambassador. Or have a quieter life.” 

His stare down at her was blank.

“You’ve never considered that for a second for yourself, have you.” It was an observation, not a question. 

“Princess, he eliminates options out of hand because they’d make him feel too hard. It’s better to do the same ol’ risky Batstuff,” Wally said as he scoured through one of the cupboards.

“West, get out,” Bruce snarled. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Wally took the opportunity to scale the top of the fridge and rummage through cupboards there, looking for something. “Uh, you were just complaining that Diana had updated her personnel file to include the names of back up Wonder Women without consulting us. I woke early, I read fast. You can’t tell me to get out while insisting I have input on something.”

“Don’t make me stuff you into the refrigerator,” Bruce snapped. 

“Dude, I am a man denied his Lucky Charms. Nothing you can say can hurt me,” Wally replied, his head fully in one of the cupboards. “She said they were in here….”

“So you don’t think it’s irrational for me to prepare for such an event?” Diana asked.

“Di, everyone here wants you to be happy. Whether that’s as Wonder Woman or Diana or Ambassador Prince or Mrs. Wayne, it’s cool with me. You two kids have fun and be safe.” Wally used his super speed to avoid Batman’s angry attempt at grabbing him and dragging him down from his seat atop the fridge. “You need to cut back on the coffee, Bruce. It’s making you edgy.”

Bruce looked ready to dismantle the refrigerator to get to Wally, and Diana surreptitiously grabbed a fistful of cape in case he did. “Don’t even think about connecting that name with her.”

Diana took some small joy in realizing that he was ordering Wally not to connect the playboy to the virgin – something he outright offered to do to distract from the Superbaby tabloid debacle. 

Wally sat cross-legged on the top of the fridge. “No way. I won’t say anything. It has to be as secret as your identity cuz of the Parthenos thing.”

Bruce and Diana stared up at Wally as if he’d grown three heads. 

Wally took the opportunity to descend from the top of the fridge and investigate the cupboards on the far side of the room, slapping the door lock as he did so. “You guys forget I’m a doctor of chemistry who works with the cops, with like six aunties and uncles that are also doctors, including one in Greek history and culture. The Romans didn’t cook up _publica fama_ by themselves, you know, even though they claim everything.” 

He moved on to a second cupboard. “I have the attention span of, like, a gnat, but in that split second of focus, cuz I’m fast, I can see so much evidence at a crime scene. I’m good at what I do. And I’m good at hearing voices as I rush by, speed reading through the teleporter records to see where people go, and even picking up that she smells more and more like your aftershave after a visit to Earth.” 

Wally turned to face them, the pair still gobsmacked. “It doesn’t leave the room. I think everyone else is totally absorbed in the Lois-Clark drama; I can’t focus on it for too long or else I get a migraine. I’m happy for both of you, especially tall, dark and brooding over there.” Wally flung open one final cupboard. “AHAH.” Triumphantly, Wally found the box of Lucky Charms. He merrily unlocked the door and made his way down the hall, box in hand. “THANK YOU HAWK GUUUUUUUUUUURL.” A distant voice told him he was welcome and to shut the hell up. 

Diana and Bruce stood in the silent wake. “For some reason, I trust him,” Diana said.

Bruce only grunted. “I forget how intelligent he is. It’s a good cover, the happy-go-lucky idiot. If he actually had any focus or seriousness in him—”

“He’d be you. That’s a scary thought.” 

“Terrifying. And worrisome.” 

Diana turned off the computer she was working with and rose to look Bruce almost in the face; she wore flats, he was in his boots as Batman. “The last person I wanted to have _that_ conversation with was him. Even if he did grow up.” She wasn’t talking about the most recent conversation.

Bruce was stoic, but she felt some of the jealous tension dissipate.

Diana picked up a thread of the conversation that was bothering her. “You’ve never considered giving up the mantle or what happens when you do.”

There were several long, tense moments as he stood next to her, not answering. Then, finally, “No.” A beat. “Would you make me?”

“That would be a deal-breaker and swift end to us, I think,” Diana replied. She knew she was not wrong. “No, I couldn’t force you.”

He stared down at her for a few moments longer. “I won’t make you give up Wonder Woman. I don’t want to _cause_ you to her up.”

Diana held his gaze, steady. “If it happened, I would carry on. Diana is not just Wonder Woman.” 

Silence.

Then.

“I wouldn’t ask you – or cause you -- to do something I myself couldn’t do.”

Diana willed her panic to be quiet and pushed her anger to the side. “I do things that are impossible for you everyday. Just file this in the same category.” 

Bruce’s face gave away nothing before he walked out, leaving Diana alone in the kitchen. She slept that night in his Gotham Knights t-shirt, hugging it to herself. 

**

It was only the next morning that Diana checked her phone to find a text message from a strange number. 

**Unk.: This is Alfred Pennyworth, butler of Wayne Manor. Is this Diana?**

Diana groggily rolled over to sit up. He was Bruce’s caretaker, seemingly. Diana sobered at that thought, waking up fully. Alfred was a better friend than enemy, and he had made a lovely dinner.

**D: Amazonian Princess, at your service. :)**

**A: Pleased to exchange greetings. I wish it were under better circumstances.**

**A: Hellmonth has started early this year. Master Bruce is incommunicado as he is now on retreat somewhere in Switzer-France.**

Diana sighed. He had warned her. 

**D: Thanks. Good luck.**

**A: Appreciated.**


	2. Orpheus and Eurydice, Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The path is not always easy.

Diana sent Alfred a few clandestine texts to gauge Bruce’s mood over the course of the next few days.

**D: So SOP = stay away and be quiet?**

**A: He is not himself during this month.**

**A: …actually, he is the worst version of himself.**

**D: He told me that Hellmonth would happen. But why?**

Alfred didn’t reply that day. He did reply the next day.

 **A: Thomas and Martha Wayne. Park Row.** **October 18.**

Diana decided that running this through the Watchtower computers was a foolhardy venture. So she teleported down to the Themysciran embassy and then snuck out to the public library. 

That’s how Diana ended up crying in the middle of the microfilm room over an orphaned, eight-year-old boy with a haunted little face. 

**

**D: Never speak of it?**

**A: Unless he speaks of it first.**

**D: TYVM. For everything. Taking care of him.**

**D: And especially the apple cider.**

**A: YW. :)**

**A: I had suspected you were the woman in question.**

Diana paused to consider her next words, but gracefully, Alfred came to the rescue.

**A: Master Bruce has become reserved in recent years in regard to his romantic life**

**A: his actual romantic life, not the front in public.**

**A: It was a relief to find he was hiding someone from me like he was a teenager again.**

That made Diana laugh but also left her with a strange sadness.

**

**A: White carnations?**

**D: Bad idea?**

**A: No. Wonderful. Fitting.**

**

As Diana readied for bed in the bathroom a few days later, she considered what defined them as ‘together.’

Despite much forward motion in their physical relationship, Diana found that most of it took place in silence. They didn’t _do_ romantic banter. She was somewhat relieved; she had no practice with it. Of the films that she had watched with Shayera and Dinah, she never understood the need for special words between lovers that one couldn’t say to friends. The only film she liked in the “chick flick” genre was _When Harry Met Sally_ , which focused on them _not_ being lovers at all until the end. 

Diana wondered if Bruce missed it; Batman didn’t flirt or chat – at least not in front of her. At the same time, she wondered if he didn’t because that was a tool of the playboy, someone he apparently did not like. It was really hard to tell what the real Bruce wanted with all his layers of identity. 

Then her ventilation system rattled. Diana stared up at her bathroom ceiling, carefully backing away in her silk dressing gown. She flung open her door to the rest of the quarters, eyeing where she had taken off her bracelets. The grate in the ceiling dropped onto the floor, and a familiar face peered down at her for a moment. “Hi, Princess.”

Bruce.

Diana wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell at him as he disappeared momentarily and his feet dangled from the vent in her bathroom. Couldn’t he use a door like a normal person? She chose to laugh; after all, he did it for her and her reputation. 

Bruce landed gracefully, dressed in his civilian clothes. He tugged an overnight bag down from the vent. Then he turned to her, eyes smoldering, and pulled her in for a kiss. 

No, no romantic banter, she concluded. It wasn’t like he needed it.

Then again.

“Been awhile since I saw you,” he murmured against her mouth. “Missed you.”

“You, Batman, miss annoying Leaguers who keep you away from Gotham?” She managed to come up with a retort before his mouth covered hers entirely again.

“No, _I_ missed _you_ , Diana. Not the Bat. Not anyone else.” Bruce broke the kiss in order to run his hands up and down her sides, enjoying the feel of her nightwear between his fingers. 

Diana looked at him. He seemed no different from the last time she saw him a month ago. “I missed you. Are you –?” Diana didn’t know how to ask how he was. That was a simple question that was fraught with danger, especially after last month.

The clouds only raced across his face briefly. “I am fine,” he insisted. Then his face softened. “I saw the flowers.”

Diana was careful here. “Was that … all right?” She didn’t want to overstep boundaries, but Diana was smart enough to know that Bruce’s parents were a constant presence in his life, even though they were over thirty years dead. 

Bruce nodded, then quietly added, “I’ll take you someday.”

Diana felt her heart skip a beat. That was significant. So was the fact he was here with an overnight bag, which her eyes now lingered on.

Apparently, he had not dumped her in the kitchen after all.

Bruce followed her gaze. He gently cupped her chin with his hand to redirect her attention. “You can tell me to leave, if you want.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” was her quick reply.

So tonight was the seventh night.

Diana gathered up her courage and took him by the hand to lead him into the bedroom. She wasn’t injured. He wasn’t injured. There was nary a costume in sight (though both outfits were within reach, honestly). Diana felt electric sparks in her extremities. The anticipation of the unknown was maddening as he followed behind her. Was it tonight, did he intend, would he stop her, would she stop him, would he stay over, would they just hold each other and sleep ---- 

Had today been the last day in her armor? 

The last thought came unbidden and unwelcome. She had made her final arrangements. She had accepted the consequences, if there were any. Diana wanted to be more than a symbol, more than some receptacle cast from clay, more than a super hero.

She wanted to be real. She wanted to have human experiences. And that meant pain and suffering and pleasure and joy. 

“So what do you wear to bed?” she heard herself ask. “Probably not the suit,” she added, referring to the last time they’d shared a bed. 

Bruce crooked a grin at her. “Very boring matching pajamas. Raised by older parents and then by an English butler who had a sense of what to wear at the right place and the right time. I ditch the top, sometimes.” The grin turned naughty. “And you?”

“Nothing. Amazons don’t sexualize bodies the same way as Man’s World does. My body is my body.” She began to tug at the robe’s sash.

Bruce’s hands stopped her. Confused, she looked up at him. 

Hungry eyes looked back at her, a slightly shocked smile on his face replacing the naughty grin. “You’re going to give me that heart attack you warned me about it.”

Diana blinked. “It’s just me.”

Bruce’s eyebrows rose up his forehead. “Just you. A perfectly formed creation. Just you.” He shook his head. “Princess, I’m a degenerate product of my society. Your body is –” He took a moment to collect himself. “I vaguely recall a Gotham Knights shirt around here?”

Diana tilted her head. “I can make a concession for your comfort. But why--?”

“We’re not going to rush this. You might have decided we’re inevitable. I haven’t.” Bruce tightened his grip on her wrists, preventing her from protesting or pulling away. “Don’t use me to test your fate, just to test it. I won’t ruin you for your own curiosity.”

There was a deeper need there, something that only threw up defenses to distract and said words that he knew weren’t true.

Diana didn’t let her temper rise at him. She didn’t fall for his snare, not after he’d emerged from his deepest shadows. “You know I love you. I didn’t choose you for convenience – there were easier quarries.” 

He let out a biting laugh at that.

Diana rotated her wrists so that she could grab hold of Bruce’s forearms. “You would not lie to me for your vanity or for my own feelings. You would not approach this with a carefree heart…” Diana trailed off. She wasn’t so arrogant to think she fully understood Bruce’s complicated, byzantine internal workings.

Bruce seemed to absorb all of this, hearing the said and the unsaid. “No, never carefree about you.” He swallowed, hard, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t. “I’ll get changed in your bathroom. You find that shirt and try not to kill me.”

Diana also made the quiet concession of shorts underneath the shirt, as she had the previous night he slept over. She wondered why he insisted upon being slow – they were adults and she was willing. Granted, Bruce didn’t want the burden of having destroyed Wonder Woman ---

She wondered if that had been a contingency plan – seduction to depower her. She knew he had had relationships with female rivals; it was a bizarre way of following his ‘no teammates’ rule. Then again, that hadn’t been an intended weapon, at least on his part. Diana shoved that aside for tonight as she slid under her sheets. Bruce re-entered her bedroom, and true to his word, he wore matching men’s pajamas. He was buttoning up the shirt when Diana softly said, “Stop.” 

He stilled as she crossed to kneel at the edge of the bed, eyes looking him over. Bruce realized what she was looking at. “You’ve seen these before, Princess.”

“In medbay. In the field. When I’ve patched you up. When we changed clothes during a mission. This is different.” Diana’s curious fingers tugged at the buttons he’d already latched. 

Bruce tensed momentarily, then relaxed, remembering who this was. “Something new for you.” Without a struggle, he let her pull off his shirt, leaving it on the dresser nearby. “Before you even ask, no, I don’t remember them all. Haven’t seen half of them, without a mirror.” 

Diana’s fingers began to wander across his skin. She’d never scar like him. She explored the strange textures, some smooth, some rough and bumpy, some indentations that would never gain the same level as the rest of his skin. “But they all hurt?”

“At some point.” 

Diana would never scar and would never feel the same pain Bruce did. She knew that. “How many years?”

Bruce sighed and thought. “I had my appendix out when I was 12. So that was the first one.”

Diana’s lips appeared at his lower right quadrant, and Bruce let out a tiny gasp. “You know what I mean.” He could only rumble in response, her lips tracing a course along each muscle, working from his lower right side to his left, then up toward his ribs, gentle hands holding him close to her.

Diana felt his hands weave into her hair. “I’ve been at this unofficially since I was teenager – small busts, the odd pickpocket, beating up pimps. Got a few that way, but…nothing major.” He sighed. She smiled against his skin as she caressed a spot he liked. “When I was… 24, 25. I came back to Gotham after years of training. Batman arrived soon after. Oh.” Bruce’s voice rose slightly in pitch as Diana’s tongue slid across his chest. 

Diana felt his hands slide from her hair to her chin as he pulled her up to his mouth. Her arms went around him as he sank down to sit beside her, then effortlessly pulled her into his lap – she didn’t resist. Bruce’s mouth was ardent and demanding, releasing pent up tension from the month they’d been parted, teasing at her pulse before coaxing her mouth open with his tongue.

His hands were no less active. She felt him explore her legs below the hem of the shirt, palming her thighs and calves. Her light fingers ran down the sides of his body, until Diana noticed a bulge growing beneath her. “Sorry,” she said into his mouth.

Bruce made a quizzical “hrm?” noise.

“I don’t mean to tease—”

Bruce cut her off with a deep kiss. “Princess, you’ve left me in worse situations. I’m enjoying this.” He rolled her under him unexpectedly, the air rushing out of her lungs and eyes wide open. “I could tease you back,” he offered, his hands sliding up from her legs to her breasts. His eyes sparked hot as she instinctively arched her back, delivering herself into his hands.

Diana felt desire coil inside her as his fingers slid across the thin fabric of her shirt, teasing her nipples to hard tips. Diana couldn’t help but moan, and she saw a smug grin as he bowed his head to kiss her on the mouth, lips warm and wet. She squirmed beneath him, clutching at his broad back with her hands, careful not to add to his collection of scars. Diana felt his weight upon her, and it was so different from when they sparred. Here, it was intimate, pleasurable – gentle. That hadn’t been expected – neither had been his behavior in Vermont. 

Diana heard herself making high-pitched little moans with each pass of his thumb’s pad over her tender breasts through her shirt. Bruce pulled back briefly to nuzzle her, an affectionate gesture in the midst of passionate entanglement. Bruce dragged his mouth down to her neck with a groan and an involuntary roll of his hips. A sudden rush of cold air hit her chest, and suddenly Bruce’s hot mouth and calloused fingers were directly on her breasts. Diana cried out, a passionate “yes” erupting. She felt an intense spike of desire between her legs, and she spread them as his hips rolled again against her thigh. Gentle tugs were paired with sucks and flicks and squeezes, and he moaned when she called his name. 

Bruce had just moved his mouth to her other breast and started to let his hand trail up her thigh when the Watchtower’s red alert went off. They both startled, but managed to check their responses before biting or striking the other. Panting, they stared at each other, as if there was a choice to stop or just ignore it and keep going. Bruce finally spoke first. “I’m surprised we haven’t been interrupted before.”

Diana looked up at him, dazed. “I’m still not convinced it’s an emergency.” 

He chuckled at her, a hand stroking her cheek even as he extracted himself from her embrace, gently tugging her shirt back over her body. “You check and see what it is. I’ll suit up in your bathroom.” This effectively hid Bruce from the commlink. As he ducked into the bathroom, she heard the shower crank up, likely on cold, full-blast. 

Diana opened the comm to the Monitor. “Wonder Woman here, what’s the situation?” 

Shayera answered promptly. “What isn’t the situation is a better question. We have coordinated attacks on three continents in major capital cities. We’re trying to untangle who it is, but it seems domestic – earth-source, nothing extraterrestrial. Might be the League of Assassins Once again, Batman has disabled his tracker, so we have no idea where the expert on the Society is.” Shayera let out a displeased grunt as Diana heard her slap at another flashing light on the Monitor’s dashboard. “Right, another strike, in Buenos Aires – that’s four continents. I’m deploying five teams – one for each city, plus a float. They’re going to hit something we’re not expecting…. I’m wondering if it is the Watchtower itself.”

Diana was already pulling on her armor as she replied, “What team? R&R is over.”

Shayera clicked her tongue a few times. “Team Buenos Aires – there are delays in getting data from the area, so I’m most worried about that. I’ve already asked Superman to try, but if you can track down Batman, send him to the Womb to look at this data – who are these people, where are they going next.” 

“I’ll do my best. I’ll be on the transport deck in ten. Wonder Woman out.”

Wonder Woman finished placing her tiara as Batman emerged from the bathroom, impassive as ever. “You caught all that?”

He gave her a brusque nod. “I’m on my way up to the Womb. Hawkgirl is a detective in her own right – I doubt she’s wrong.” 

Diana started toward the door, only to see him not move. “You’re not coming?” 

“Not that way.” He hesitated for a moment.

“Bruce?” she asked, retracing her steps back to him.

Diana found herself pulled to his chest, lips dominating hers in one hell of a kiss. Her heartbeat jumped, and when he pulled back, she heard him say, over her racing heart, “Love you, Diana.”

And without another look or another word, he was back in her bathroom, leaping up into the ventilation system. There was one final clank as he went out of earshot.

Diana stood stunned for a moment before she let out a shaky breath and allowed a grin to cross her face. She self-consciously readjusted her bracers, her rope, her tiara, her boots. And then she went to transport.

**

A few nights later, he came in through the door of her quarters. She’d just gotten back from South America. He’d been holed up doing intel and strategic work with Shayera in the conference room for almost three days solid. 

Diana couldn’t remember what super villain was behind it this time. It was over, it was resolved, they had to watch for the next attack, and Diana was tired to her bones and didn’t care anymore. 

Bruce didn’t either, as he didn’t even attempt any illusions to enter her quarters. She awoke to the override on her door being activated and the shadow sweeping in. Drowsy, she watched his silhouette strip down, grabbing at the pajamas that had been left on her dresser. A quiet “oh” was the only evidence that he noticed she’d forgone any concessions to him. 

The eighth night, they slept together, exhausted but not alone. 

**

On the ninth night, which was a lunch overlooking the garden at Wayne Manor, Diana lost her temper. So did Bruce. It was inevitable that the ‘honeymoon’ period would end, and it did so, explosively. 

The day was bright, but the chill was permeating through the thick glass. The salad, complimented by seasonal fruits, was divine, but as delicious as it was, it could not fully distract from Bruce’s constantly buzzing phone. Diana, at first, ignored it. Then, when he kept checking it – but not replying – her curiosity began to get the better of her. “Am I keeping you from a business meeting?” she asked.

Bruce shook his head, brow creased. He didn’t speak.

Diana prodded a few spinach leaves. “You can answer it, if you need to. They might stop if you –” 

“No, she won’t. Just ignore it, Diana. I’m just making sure there isn’t an actual emergency,” Bruce roughly cut her off. Diana saw him disable vibration notifications for that whoever the serial texter was. His mood was darkening by the second.

She. Bruce didn’t turn off the phone or ignore the messages. He had to stay in contact in case of emergency. Diana knew Bruce Wayne the playboy didn’t have emergencies; those were handled by Lucius Fox or by Alfred. She.

Diana continued to pick at her salad as she watched Bruce brood over a glass of chardonnay, looking out over the garden which was in its final stages of dying before the winter flowers appeared; Alfred believed in the ever-blooming garden. “Who is it?”

Bruce didn’t look at her. “Doesn’t matter. Is the food to your liking?”

Diana followed his distant gaze to some indeterminate point in the garden. “Yes, Alfred always does a wonderful job. But I thought lunch would just be the two of us, not three.” 

Bruce didn’t quite slam the glass down, but it certainly made a loud ‘clink.’ “It doesn’t concern you, Diana.” 

Diana met his agitated glare. “It apparently concerns you.” She placed her fork neatly on her plate. “Who is she?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Drop it, Diana.”

Diana could see the situation – her insistence, the persistence of the texter, the unknown problem among them. It was eating away at Bruce’s hold on his temper. 

She decided to cut to the chase – or pour gasoline on the fire as it were. “Is she the disaster when it comes to dating within the team?”

That did it. Bruce was on his feet so quickly his chair fell over behind him, their glasses’ contents sloshing up and down rapidly. “We’re not having this conversation!” he yelled at her.

Diana was on her feet now, too, her voice getting louder. “Well, she thinks you are going to reply. At some point.” Diana gestured to the phone. “And you probably are, once I’m gone.” 

Bruce’s eyes were ice cold with fury, but he was silent. So silent. 

Diana wasn’t one to run or cower, and his silence was only making her angrier. “Who is she? And why can’t you tell her to let go?”

“None of –”

“It’s my business, Bruce,” Diana interrupted him, walking around the table to get right in his face about it. “I have a right to know when your past relationships are—”

“It happened once,” he snarled. “Only once,” he repeated, some of the venom dissipating as shame began to override his features. “And never again.” Now he turned to face her again, and if she had not been the warrior she was, she might have cowered. “Yes, she was a teammate. And yes, it was a terrible mistake.” Again, Bruce looked as if he held something back.

His stare ordered her not to say anything more, but Diana was not to be ordered around by any man. “Why?”

Bruce turned away from here, aimlessly stalking across the room. “I have excuses, none of them good.” 

“Don’t make me get my lasso. I demand full disclosure,” she snapped, fierce and furious.

Bruce had the audacity to scoff. “Is this your gift from Aphrodite? Or Hera? Jealousy? Spite?”

No, he didn’t need to know what Aphrodite had given her. Not yet. “It’s clearly something that caused you to avoid me,” Diana countered, ignoring the invocation of the goddess. 

“Not enough, apparently,” was Bruce’s sharp retort. “We’re here anyway.” 

His sour tone did nothing to improve her mood. “Bruce…” was all she said, warning him. 

He warned her right back. “You’ll hate me.”

She didn’t budge. Diana knew he had had many ill-advised women. This was only the first one that would come up in their arguments, in all likelihood. 

Bruce turned away again. They stood in the warm light, even as the cold breeze scattered the dead leaves across the garden. It was already nearly frigid here. 

He began with the excuses. “It was the end of Hellmonth. This time of year. I was lonely. I had a few drinks at the party and wanted another to help me sleep…You’d gone off to find Trevor after you got back from the Savage mission.” 

That startled her. 

He caught it – the shift in her weight, maybe a change in her breathing. All the same, he caught it. Bruce rounded on her like a wolf on vulnerable prey. “Yes, Princess, those feelings got in the way too. I mean, what’s the difference between one woman who has had a crush on you compared to another?” His words bit sharply. 

Diana wasn’t a coward. She didn’t back away.

Bruce pressed the cruelest edges. “She’d had something for me since she was kid. Even as she was dating my ward, she had a crush on me. Did I mention that?” he interrupted himself. “That’s part of the reason why Dick Grayson doesn’t come around here much anymore. She was living her fantasy of working with me. And then, because I was a fool and not in control, I had to have her one night. And I did.” The feral look on his face sent no small amount of revulsion through Diana’s system. “Gym mats. The cave. She came hard because she got what she always wanted, her fantasy, not because of how good I was or how nicely I treated her – and I wasn’t either of those things that night.” 

Diana wanted to vomit. She knew who he was talking about now, no question. 

By Hades, Diana _liked_ Barbara as a person, even though they were not fully acquainted enough to be friends. She was bright and clever and swift. She hadn’t been seeing things when she saw Barbara follow Bruce’s form with her eyes, some strange cross of worship and desire and familiarity all crammed into one, petite gymnast. 

Bruce leered at her as he drew close, close enough to let her hit him, let her break him, let her snap his neck without a second thought. “I made it clear to her it was a mistake. I made it clear it was only once. She didn’t give up. Not during the holidays. Not even through her first semester in grad school, when she finally went away. Only when she came back for spring break -- I made it clear that if she ever meddled in my life – if my secret identity fell, so would the boys. So would hers. And that would take her father’s career and legacy with it – because how stupid could a man be not to know his daughter is one of those costumed freaks?”

Diana felt some trembling piece of will and courage that she had vested in her brief encounters with Jim Gordon. “Discretion is the better part of valor – he knows. He chooses not to say.”

Bruce leaned in to whisper hot in her ear, “That makes it worse. That makes him culpable for all that we’ve done. All that I’ve done. The only man she loves more than me is him.”

Diana realized that, just as she was close enough to him to kill him, so was he to her, and Bruce was clever enough to know how to kill her without brute force. Somehow. Some way. 

He was doing it right now. 

Diana had forced him to confess, and she had gotten exactly what she wanted. Every bitter piece of it. But she had the answer. She stepped back and delivered to his face: “No teammates, a rich boy with issues, those who would strike at you to get to me, are you willing to give up everything for a man…. Not everything. Not tonight.” She repeated all his words back to him.

Bruce’s expression was as granite, but incendiary bombs were going off behind those eyes. Some far-off war was raging, and it was nowhere near Diana.

Diana felt rage running through her veins, but she could still use her tongue to act as a finesse weapon – a rapier rather than a cudgel. “You didn’t feel enough for her to be slow. To make her think it through, to give her every escape, to consider the consequences. Is that why you are slow with me?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at her.

Diana swallowed hard and grabbed at her bag. “Good.”

She did not look back as she walked away from the garden and her unfinished lunch. She did not look back as Alfred called her name. She didn’t look not look back as she descended the stairs from the clock to the cave.

Diana did not look back at the piled exercise mats, but she still went blind in her fury. She somehow managed to get on the transporter and signal for the Watchtower to take her up. 

She did not look back when she heard Bruce’s voice. 

Diana dismantled no fewer than six training droids over the next two days, removing all safety protocols as she vented her rage and her despair.

Now it was up to Eurydice to follow Orpheus; Diana had not looked back once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know not everyone is going to be thrilled with this, but I do try to stick to canon until the absolute last second. That includes referring to the really, really uncomfortable phone call Bruce has with Barbara in the film Mystery of the Batwoman, which is before Return of the Joker and whatever they had thereafter. 
> 
> Although that film came out in October 2003, it refers to Barb coming home for spring break; that would place it in February/March 2003, which is right between Seasons 1 and 2 of Justice League; the final episode of Season 1 is Savage Time when Diana met Steve Trevor, which aired November 9, 2002. I headcanon Hellmonth being the 2 weeks before and the two weeks after October 18th, so not the entire month of October, but rather, roughly October 4 to November 1. So just before Thanksgiving 2002, Bruce and Barbara had their encounter and now, several years later at the exact same time of year, Barbara has gotten wind of the Diana situation. For Barb fans, don't worry -- her side of the story is in the next chapter.


	3. His Favorite Time of Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same!" -- Dr. Seuss, from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

Wonder Woman was invited to the Wayne Foundation Christmas Party for the Gotham Children’s Home.

Diana hadn’t seen Bruce outside of League business since that blustery November day; Thanksgiving had been spent at John’s house, helping Shayera cope with meeting the vast and expansive Stewart family.

That’s what Barbara had heard through the grapevine and gleaned through Alfred’s discreet tea time conversation. Barbara wasn’t just the pretty face; between her father’s childrearing and her training under Batman, Batgirl was a fine detective herself and easily deduced the identity of the woman Bruce had a meal with at the manor. 

Alfred had also elegantly admonished her for the torrent of questions and thinly disguised congratulations. It harried Bruce and was unhealthy for her, now years later. 

“But I thought…” Barbara had bit her lip in embarrassment, fully aware that Alfred knew everything that transpired within these walls. He betrayed no disapproval or disappointment in her. “Is there any way back? To friendship and trusted partners? From what I did? Coming to the Cave in Hellmonth broke protocol – he was mourning, he was drinking –”

“He was a grown man still in control of his faculties, and you are his younger, trusted colleague.” Alfred gave her a painfully apologetic look before continuing. “You had looked up to him since he began to work with your father.”

The crimson heat crossed her features, but Alfred always had been perceptive. “It was a mutual mistake. He shouldn’t have --- I shouldn’t have.” 

Alfred nodded, fractionally, slightly, barely visibly. 

Barbara had so wanted to hate Bruce for giving her something she had always wanted – she now would always want it again. But the numb shame that had almost immediately consumed him after – no, she never wanted to see that again. 

Both of them had played the role of the predator, and the second she realized it, her heart had broken. She’d tried to atone. She had tried to be affectionate, caring, expressive toward him, to reassure him that he was loved and not just a dream-come-true lover. 

Barbara had tried to persevere through the holidays, through her first semester of grad school up until spring break. Then Bruce’s apologies and gentle rejections had turned harsh. He couldn’t take her fawning anymore, her “schoolgirl fantasies,” as he referred to them. That had stung, but that had not made it a lie. 

They’d used each other in the end, and Dick once again picked up all the pieces. He’d punched Bruce (again) and let Barbara cry her heart out in his apartment in Bludhaven, only parting from her to do his shift on duty with the BPD.

He was the first to know the pregnancy test was negative. Thank God. 

Tim stayed the hell away from everyone, only confiding in Alfred. Barbara wondered what the teenager thought of the broken adults all around him. She didn’t ask the butler, however; Alfred’s silence was sacred as the confessional. 

“Will he always be distant from me? Or is it just because of her?” Barbara asked, knowing both answers wouldn’t be unfair. 

Alfred’s lips forced themselves into a thin line, then he sipped his tea before answering. “These matters grow more delicate every year, Miss Barbara. He drifts further away from us. Even me.” A moment. “It is a question whether we allow ourselves to be pulled along with him.”

Alfred’s gaze lingered too long on a painting of the Waynes, before moving down toward pictures of Bruce throughout the ages. Then his eyes settled on a small mirror, his reflection causing him to frown in most profound disapproval. 

Barbara swallowed a hot mouthful of tea, almost too quickly. 

She had to get out of this before it consumed her, too.

**

The orphans had piled out of the buses from the orphanage and into the large back parlor that opened out on to the gently sloping stone back steps that led to Alfred’s garden, now sleeping beneath a layer of snow, all of the viable blooms decorating the house along with the traditional Christmas decorations that Tim had seen every year since arriving at the Manor.

Dick had confirmed to him that _he_ had seen those decorations every year since he arrived at the manor as a young boy himself. 

After a gap of several years, Dick had resumed coming home to Wayne Manor for Christmas. During his second Christmas with Bruce, even though he was still quite young, Tim had been observant enough to note Alfred’s happiness when Dick showed up unexpectedly – the spring in his step, his doting on his former charge, and the warmth that threatened to break the Englishman’s quiet reserve. 

The boy had approached the young man in a compromised position: mouth full of cookies and searching for a glass of milk. “You should come back more often.” Then an awkward pause, a shift in weight, a shrug of a sweater he hadn’t fully grown into yet. “For Alfred.” 

Dick chewed through his problem carefully before answering with what became his yearly excuse: “It’s a shame to miss the one day a year this place is happy.” 

For all his issues and all his problems, Bruce never ruined Christmas for Dick or Tim. His “bah humbug” attitude was a pantomime, an old staged act that grew more dramatic and crotchety every year, just as Dick’s obnoxious cheerfulness grew – Scrooge and his nephew Fred was Alfred’s literary reference of choice. 

Tim only got it after watching _The Muppet Christmas Carol,_ which Dick enjoyed far too much and Bruce not at all. Alfred hummed along the entire time. 

This year, Tim watched from the upper floor that looked over the parlor. He was older now. College wasn’t as far away as it used to be; he was already being encouraged to look at dual credit. He figured it was a matter of perspective, but he swore the kids got smaller, more fragile, more hungry every year, two-fisting Alfred’s baking triumphs. 

The adults were the same, seemingly ageless. They might have been preserved by the alcohol or the plastic surgery – probably both. Dick had made a similar observation. The society crowd always came out to be kind to little kids one day a year, giving them presents and posing for photos they could use to signal their virtue. Some of them were ok. Others, not so much. 

Despite the frost of winter, she wore the same uniform as usual, unaffected by the cold. She’d explained it to the children as Hephaestus’ gift -- the warrior would never be cold. Just out of earshot of the children, but not Diana (enhanced hearing) or Tim (standing nearby), playboy Bruce Wayne commented to one of his society friends, “Sounds like a hunting bra I got Ronnie Vreeland one year. Battery-operated.” Lewd laughter erupted over afternoon brandies.

Sometimes, in the name of maintaining the secret identity, Bruce was one of those rich people that weren’t ok. 

Diana had shot daggers at his words before returning her full attention to the children, and Tim nearly broke his finger with the vicious stab he gave Bruce the second the cadre of men had dissolved, breaking to give obligatory attention to their wives. As the older man wheeled on him, Tim had said through grit teeth, “Not cool. Little kids, and she didn’t like it.” 

Bruce had given him a withering look, wordlessly reminding him that this was an act. Tim gave him a look in retort – it still had gone too far. This was how he ended up retreating to the upper floor, still watching and being seen, but distinctly separated.

That said, Bruce was still at his best today. He was jovial. He was sociable. He squeezed his peers for a few more dollars – the dirty jokes were part of that scheme. Tim dryly observed that it was a good thing Bruce used his powers mostly for good; he would have been a devastating con artist in his skill of stripping money away. And most of it wasn’t even a lie or a deception. 

Tim heard a small commotion outside and craned his neck down slightly to see what was going on. Wonder Woman had declared the winners of a very, very slow paced snowball fight, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was really sweet, honestly. For someone who’d never played with little kids or even seen them before coming to Man’s World, Diana was pretty good with them. 

Most of what Tim knew about her came from interviews and statements out of the embassy. They’d never been formally introduced; Tim had been sent off to elaborate weekends with other rich people’s kids whenever Alfred anticipated her arrival. It was the Greek cookbooks he’d found in the kitchen that caused him to ask Alfred, and Alfred did not lie in response. 

And then the thing with Barbara came back from the dead, and Bruce’s mood had just gone to hell. Until today. Today he was bearable, though maybe more sincerely cranky than he had been on other Christmases. 

It was in the midst of these thoughts that Dick approached with a purloined plate from Alfred’s personal stash of rejected cookies – the ugly ones, the ones where the icing hadn’t dried right or the decorations were less than perfect. Still delicious, just not up to exacting standards for a Wayne Christmas party. “So, what do you think?”

Tim looked at him, questioning, as he took the first cookie off the top. 

“Her.”

Tim cast a look down to make sure Diana was still outside. “She seems like what she advertises herself as. Alfred likes her.”

Dick nodded. “I got some dirt from Booster Gold. She’s got a temper on her. Apparently gets into screaming matches with Bruce. They’re equally stubborn.” Dick sidled up slightly closer, also watching Diana and being fully aware of her enhanced hearing. “Magic thing happened, and he apparently martyred his pride to get her back.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully as he continued to eat. Dick balanced the plate and its goods on a chair nearby.

Dick swallowed his mouthful and then made a slightly sour face. “Barbara is upset, I know it. And I’m honestly not sure he can treat anyone right after that.”

Tim rubbed the side of his face. “Has it occurred to either of you that something is off the table? That this thing is a thing because it has boundaries?”

“Huh?” Dick eloquently grunted as he ate another cookie.

Tim raised his chin slightly. “Armor of Athena.”

Dick stared at him blankly. “I failed Greek mythology.”

Tim huffed in frustration. “Virgin goddess. He might like hanging out with her because they won’t. It’s not Talia or Selina where you practically feel the sexual tension three rooms away.” 

Dick laughed at that. “I read the same press releases you do, Tim. She’s the huntress like Artemis, but also strong as Demeter, as truthful as Hestia, and beautiful as Aphrodite. Are they all virgins too?”

Tim winced slightly. “Artemis might be a virgin goddess, but the other two aren’t. So much for that theory.”

Dick sighed as he leaned over the bannister, “Isn’t it sad we have to make up crazy theories as to why Bruce has feelings or how he has semi-functional relationships these days?” 

“Or at least why he has more emotional options than brooding and angry toward her,” Tim agreed. He followed Dick’s line of sight toward their mutual guardian. “You talk to Barb lately? Like, actually talk to her?”

Dick gave him a sidewise glance. “What about?”

“She’s thinking of hanging up the cape.” Tim did nothing to soften the blow or prepare the ground for it. He just let it wallop Dick in the chest, just as it had him. 

“Christ.” Dick glared down at Bruce before Tim saw a red flush run hot up his neck. “Is it--?”

Tim physically grabbed Dick before he descended the stairs to punch Bruce on Christmas Eve in front of Jesus and everyone in Gotham’s high society. “No, not that. She told me she realized that she doesn’t want to follow Bruce’s path. Go wherever it is he’s moving off to.”

Dick visibly unclenched, the rage fading as quickly as it had arrived. The expression continued to evolve into something Tim couldn’t quite place. “You know. When it happened, I thought the thing with Barbara would be the cause of us splitting up. All of us. Alfred saved the day on that one.” He drew in a shaky breath and then released it. “Now I think it was just a symptom of something worse with him.”

Tim watched Dick carefully. “I refuse to get involved in any of that. All I know is that it happened, they both felt awful for different reasons, and when Barb figured out Bruce was seeing someone new, she was all too eager to wish him well and ask details. He didn’t take it well.”

Dick nodded. “Sums it up. I disagree, but you’re trying to be neutral.” Dick finally made eye contact with Tim. “You know, he used to be a hell of a lot more fun when I was a kid. Right up until I went off to college. I was away. He…was Batman alone for four years there, then we had the blow up and then there was another couple of years before you.” 

“He only started it the year or two before you arrived, right?”

“Yeah. He was alone for awhile,” Dick repeated himself.

Tim elbowed him and grabbed at the last cookie. “Don’t blame yourself. He’s supposed to parent you, not the other way around.” 

Tim felt Dick stare at him for a moment, probably remembering how much responsibility Tim had shouldered with Shifty Drake as a father. 

“Besides,” Tim continued, “Alfred’s been here the whole time.”

“Doesn’t fill that void though. Never does.” 

Dick stared at the picture of the Waynes that hung in the parlor. 

Tim paused as he saw a now-familiar expression that had marched across several faces in recent memory when gazing upon the Waynes. “And maybe that’s what we shouldn’t get sucked into.” Tim’s jaw tensed before he dropped the other shoe. “I was already kind of thinking what Barb thinks….way before she said it.”

Dick closed his eyes. “Do it.” His lips twitched, as if fighting a smile and a frown at the same time. “The longer you go, the harder it gets to give it up. Not even being a cop and trying to become the next Commissioner Gordon gives the same high.”

He knew Dick’s other reasons for alternative emulation. “Time to open presents with the kids. Someone is totally getting a sled, and that hill is begging to be used.” 

They pounded down the steps, Dick skittering momentarily to go back and collect the cookie plate before Alfred mounted his head on a pike for leaving crumbs on the furniture.

**

Eventually, the socialites grew bored of their tiny charges and left them to Bruce Wayne, the hapless fop, and his long-suffering butler Alfred. There was only a brief flash of panic on Bruce’s face before Alfred marshalled the small mob into the dining room for a light supper, carefully utilizing the presence of Wonder Woman to his advantage. Once the girls followed her, the boys didn’t resist being coaxed along by Bruce and his boys.

Diana mindfully ate a balanced meal, trying everything on the table; she would have done so anyway, but she also had an audience and more than just one mimic. Diana discreetly looked down the table at the host for the evening. 

Bruce was as close to being happy as she had ever seen him. She caught the glances he would give his wards. She knew her mother would check in on her like that. She knew also that Alfred cast similar looks down that way at all three of his boys. 

Bruce wasn’t as alone as the Batman persona wanted him to be. The boys always came back. Alfred never gave up. Barbara was with her father and extended relations. Diana gracefully redirected her attention to her plate, not willing to risk Bruce seeing _her_ brood. 

Diana felt nothing bad toward Barbara. She understand that protocol had been broken – Barbara knew better than to enter the Cave during Hellmonth but did so in some strange hope. Diana finally understood why Alfred had recanted his words via text – Bruce was entirely himself during Hellmonth, too much so. The parts of Bruce and Batman that they all hated most were on non-stop display. 

That included that strange and sudden jealousy that had consumed him when she went to spend Thanksgiving and later Christmas with Steve Trevor, who was nearly 90 now. Steve’s family still clustered around him, and he was never lonely. That was of immense comfort to Diana who had feared that when she finally found him, all he would have to cling to was memories of an angel. He had so much more. She felt no guilt in sending cards for this year – Shayera needed her for John’s family. Alfred needed her for this.

Diana and Bruce hadn’t spoken since before Thanksgiving. They hadn’t spoken today. She was not introduced to Dick Grayson or to Tim Drake. She wondered if she ever would have been, or if that was something he would have found too risky, too much danger of becoming public.

Diana politely cleared her plate and ate dessert, ever mindful of the little ones who followed her lead. 

After nightfall, the children were herded out the front door, packed onto the buses, half-asleep and exhausted, but very, very happy. Diana took particular care with the little girls, reassuring them that she had played with dolls once too and not just ‘boy toys’ as she belted her sleepy charges into their seats. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a girly-girl, nor with knocking heads to emphasize that point. The matron gushed her thanks at Diana as the two women stepped off the bus. Diana retreated back toward Alfred’s kitchen, while the matron crossed the front porch to speak to Bruce, murmuring words Diana chose not to hear. 

Knowing what a good man he _could be_ only made this harder. 

Diana blinked in the foyer as she realized that she had heard of Bruce at his worst. She had seen him at some of his best today; even his off-color comment had managed to wring a few more dollars out of his friends for the children. They’d eaten only so well the last time they came to Wayne Manor. He patiently tied shoe laces and loaded batteries into toys. He was not fatherly in the least – nobody could accuse him of that. But he cared about the children that entered his house. He hadn’t gotten dark and stormy once. 

He was never perfect or pure, but she had long already accepted that. 

Diana realized Alfred was looking past her out the window at Bruce and the matron. This was the moment Alfred lived for every year, she supposed – seeing Bruce look like the man Alfred wanted him to be the whole time. The philanthropist with a soft heart that never thought once today about putting on a Batsuit to act out his justice and his atonement. 

Alfred was watching the conversation because it was the last moments of that vision for another year. Batman was inevitably going on patrol. 

But not quite yet, even as the buses pulled away and Bruce waved goodbye. 

Somehow, Tim and Dick still mustered enough energy to haul themselves up the hill on the Wayne property. They’d found an old sled from the garage, and Bruce turned on the property lights to let them goof off as late as they wanted. Diana hadn’t thought to bring a change of clothes, so she made the very strange image of Wonder Woman helping Alfred clear the dining room. Both of them let Bruce watch the young men be stupid on Christmas Eve night through the mansion windows, going ridiculously fast and barely not decapitating themselves on the various trees around the estate. 

“I think I have it from here, your Highness,” said Alfred kindly. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

Diana smiled. “For obvious reasons, I do not celebrate Christmas; I had no plans yet also no reason to feel sad for that.”

Alfred chuckled, considered the situation for a moment, then moved on. “There’s a latch on the grandfather clock. That will take you down to the cave, and the teleporter is where you remember it.” He straightened up slightly as she cast a look toward Bruce, who leaned against the windows, watching the shadowy figures play across the snowscape. 

“I don’t think I’d be wrong to wish him a Merry Christmas, even as a non-believer. Would I?” Diana felt a strange unease as she wondered if there was anything to say sorry for on either end. She had pried, he’d lashed out, she’d left him to wallow. She got the truth, he got to make his argument about what a horrible man he was. In theory, they’d both had the most bitter victory – nothing to congratulate each other about.

“No, I don’t think you would, your Highness,” Alfred answered, neither too slow nor too quick. 

Diana was elegant as she walked from the dining to Bruce’s vantage point. His large frame was visible in the darkness of the room only by virtue of the backlighting provided by the property lights. He heard her approach. She wasn’t made for stealth. He turned, silent.

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.” There, she had done her bit. She offered a smile and stood for a few moments as she watched her words register. He was motionless.

He finally replied, “Merry Christmas, Diana,” at the absolute last moment, the moment she would have broken the gaze and left, having made a fool of herself.

Her turn. She sent the volley back into his court. “You miss me?”

“Yes,” came the surprisingly loud, clear answer. He turned away from the window, angling himself to face her head-on. “You miss me? At all?”

Diana nodded, a smile pulling at her lips, but she was unsure if she should let it happen. . 

“I told you. Rich kid with issues – and difficulties with coping,” he stated flatly. His gaze seared her through the darkness. 

Diana knew. Then she wondered. The worst he could do would be to throw her out, which would result in her leaving at the planned hour. “You express negative emotions more readily than any others.”

Bruce blinked. “I’ve been reasonably jolly today.”

“Don’t think that didn’t give me pause,” was her quick answer.

He smiled at that, genuinely, but the expression faded as quickly as it appeared. “My work does not get easier by the year. Some things get better. Some things get worse. Life goes on.”

Something lingered just out of reach of his statement, beyond her own ability to put a finger on it. So she blindly grabbed at it and hoped for some god’s favor, somewhere. “You have more than your work, Bruce. More people, more things to be –”

“More liabilities, more risks for collateral damage, more to lose.”

The old argument, still alive inside him. “But you have them now. For as long as you have them.” A pause, and then a risk: “Or as long as they have you. You won’t live forever, as you love to tell me.” That caught him off-balance, and just as she did in sparring, Diana pressed the advantage. “It is very easy to focus on what you have not achieved and put aside victory if it is not absolute. You shouldn’t.” Victory and all the good emotions that came with it, she didn’t say.

He adequately recovered to make a snide reply. “That sounds like a New Year’s Resolution you’re ordering your boyfriend to make, Princess.”

“Oh, am I your girlfriend?” Diana did not think that was an unfair question to ask after everything.

Bruce didn’t object to it. “If you can tolerate----” Diana put her hands on her hips, not liking the direction of that response. Bruce gave her a slightly exasperated look. “I can’t even tell you to make a resolution. You’re perfect.”

Diana shook her head. “I still have much to learn. I don’t know how things are supposed to be –”

“I’m not the best person to tell you.” Bruce paused for a moment. “I could try to be more clear. It would be better for you, for next time, if you know.”

A tingling feeling pricked at Diana’s skin. Bruce wasn’t speaking of verbal clarity or clarity of action. He didn’t struggle with those things. Diana didn’t dare ask for clarification, however. Best to leave it nebulous, unspoken, the moment unburdened. Even as he spoke of doing that for her, it was so she could have a better relationship than him, after him.

That was sad within itself, but if it made him – if it let him be –

She had to take it. Bruce’s feelings were a labyrinth, and she was not so arrogant to think she could navigate it, even if she lived another thousand years.

Her face must have been unreadable. “What are your plans? After this? Tonight,” he clarified.

“I have Watch Tower Duty. I do not celebrate Christmas. I know many wish to be home by midnight this evening.” She took a small, careful step toward him. “You?”

“Patrol. Alone. I figure I’ll let the boys have the night off.” He let himself drift toward her slightly in the darkness. “What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

Diana gave a half-shrug. “Nothing. I was told I should try to fulfill a few traditions of Man’s World to start the New Year off correctly, but that would require another person.” 

Bruce’s lips quirked. “I could assist you with that. Maybe start on my own resolution, with your encouragement.” His mouth turned upward at the corners, slightly, as he drew closer to her still. 

As she felt his hand go to her waist, Diana whispered, “I’d like that.”

**

“Old man still has moves,” Tim observed from his position, sitting on the sled next to Dick at the top of the hill, looking down on Wayne Manor.

Dick scoffed, “He’s not _that_ old.”

“You’re only saying that because if _he_ ’s old, what are you?” Tim braced himself to feel snow slide down the back of his coat collar but it didn’t come.

Dick answered the unsaid question. “I’m feeling charitable tonight, so I’ll let that slide. I’ll give him credit though – she’s a goddess.”

Tim stared down, confused for a second. “Oh, you’re looking at _them_. I was looking at _him_.” Tim pointed down the hill, and Dick craned his neck to see what Tim saw at his slightly different angle.

While Dick had been watching Bruce reconcile with his Amazon (initially quite slowly, but now it was getting out of hand, with them backed up against the window), Alfred had apparently been watching the pair just long enough to know that all had turned out well on Christmas Eve. To unheard music, Alfred silently waltzed around the kitchen with an invisible partner, tidying up the last bits of the Christmas party. His footwork was as neat and clean as it likely had been when he was twenty-five. 

“Yeah, he’s still got it,” Dick chuckled as he watched Alfred be happy in the privacy of his kitchen. “Yeah. It’s worth coming back here to see him like that. Merry Christmas, Tim.”

“Merry Christmas, Dick.” A chilly wind blew across the estate, ruffling both heads of dark hair. “When do you think it’ll be safe to –”

“I know another way in. Let’s not even risk it. Any of it.”

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how I managed to write a Christmas fic in the middle of August. And I apologize for the slight delay in posting -- work. The conclusion to this fic may be slightly delayed for similar reasons. 
> 
> Canon notes: It's canon that Dick failed Greek Mythology but aced Astronomy. I'm not going to be compliant with Batman Beyond, in all likelihood, especially the Barb/Bruce front and when the Batfamily starts hanging up the tights. I'm pulling for Dick Grayson to end up with Barbara, but we'll see how that relationship evolves in the background. Tim has also caught my imagination, so he may end up with his own stand-alone fic in this universe. Much like many other fan fic writers, I have more ideas than I have time. I hope you enjoy this chapter.


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